


All the Times He'd Loved Her

by Noraboku



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8075248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noraboku/pseuds/Noraboku
Summary: Garrus reflects back on pivotal moments in his relationship with Commander Shepard





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise, English is not my first language and this is my first time (publicly) posting fanwork. I would appreciate all comments and criticisms if possible (and any grammatical issues) this will help me improve as well as give a better reading experience.

He could remember the precise moment he’d realised he was in love with Shepard.

A Friday. He’d finished his shift at c-sec, having recently returned following Shepard’s advice. He was in a bar. A glass of Palaven whiskey sat before him. A double. The sound of the TV screen almost inaudible beneath the bubble of chatter in the room.  
Maybe he it was because he was thinking about her that he heard it.

“Commander Shepard…”

Immediately he flicked around, searching for the source of the words. It was then his attention was drawn to the screen.  
“Commander Shepard has been announced killed in action, after the Commander’s ship was attacked by an unidentified ship. Five of the Normandy’s crew was announced killed in action earlier today by the alliance, while the remainder of the crew survived the attack…’

He stared at the screen blankly for a few minutes. Seeing the images on the screen, of the Normandy being attacked, Shepard, the rest of the Normandy’s crew but not really registering it.  
Panic began to well up inside of him. Disbelief accompanied by a sense of loss, a sense of numbness, a sense of regret, sadness, remorse. A million different emotions at once exploded inside of him, with the sensation of being hit in the chest with a thousand bullets.

She couldn’t really be gone.

It wasn’t possible.

She couldn’t be dead.

Knocking back the whiskey and draining the glass in one. He dashed out, rushing back to his apartment disbelief and panic coursing through him.

 

Pouring himself a glass of whiskey he sat for what felt like an eternity, trawling through articles, interviews, blogs, anything he could find in a vein and desperate attempt to find one tiny shred of evidence that Shepard had survived.  
Around half an hour in he had begun drinking.

An hour in he switched from drinking from a glass to directly from the bottle.

But he had to keep going, he had to find some evidence she was alive. There was no way, Commander Shepard, who had been through so much had died. That just wasn't like her. It was impossible. Commander Shepard didn't just die.

Three quarters through a bottle of whiskey he admitted defeat.

Commander Shepard was gone.

He flung the now empty whiskey bottle at the wall.

The brilliant, the inspiring, Commander Shepard. Who had taken the time to guide him, to make him a better person. Taken him with her even though he was just some hot-headed cop with a suspicion. Listened to him, been both his commander and teammate. Was gone.  
He flung his visor at the wall. He couldn't stand to see another image of her face. Not when she was gone and nothing would ever be the same again.  
He would never be the same again.

She was never coming back. And why did it take to knowledge that she was never coming back for him to realise that he needed her to come back. And that nothing would be the same, he’d never be the same without her.

That was the moment he had realised he loved Commander Shepard. As he sat keening against the hard wall of his apartment, his faced buried in his hands.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long. I plan to get the next one up within the next few days. Please, any comments, feed back, critisism are welcome. Thank you for all the support from the first chapter :)  
> Comments really do motivate me to write more as I'm a little insecure about my English :)

Omega wasn’t a place you went if you wanted a long and happy life. Which is probably why Garrus chose it. On a reckless emotion fueled impulse, he’d come to Omega. To set things right. By any means necessary.  
All in all, not the best plan. But then, when had the best plans ever been well formulated.  
And that’s how he had landed his team. An eclectic mix, much like Shepard’s team on the Normandy. A surprising mixture of races from all over the galaxy. Each with a backstory as colourful as Garrus’ own. Garrus did feel odd acting as leader at first. He began by emulating things Shepard had done. Both in style of command and in treatment of the team. Getting to know them. The real them. And over time leading the team began to become easier to him. Although, he felt he never quite had the flair for leadership that Shepard seemed to have. However, in the time he’d been on Omega he felt like he had cemented a solid team. The comradery amongst so many different species reminded him of his time on the Normandy. And he’d felt, almost a sense of purpose or fulfilment filling in the hole that was blasted into his chest at the loss of Shepard. They were setting things right on Omega. Just as Shepard had done. On a smaller scale, maybe, but still.

That was until that bastard Sidonis had shattered it all into pieces.

And now here he was. Trapped on this balcony, with his sniper rifle and mounds of ammunition the only company he had left in the universe.  
At least, he figured almost absent-mindedly putting a bullet through what must have been the hundredth Batarian, the amount of mercs he took down here was enough to make life a little easier for the citizens of Omega.

He’d been alright for the first few hours or so. But now he was beginning to feel the fatigue. His aiming was becoming sloppier as well. Twice now he’d aimed for the head only to clip the guys in the chest or shoulder. Still probably killed them, but not quite the quick and confirmed kill that a headshot brought.  
Spirits, he wished Shepard was with him. He could almost hear her voice, jokingly teasing him for his poor aim. He could feel the heart palpitations as well, probably brought on by the stims he was using to fuel this… Whatever this was. Despite holding his ground for nearly twelve hours, this could only go on for so long. Eventually he’d give in to the crushing fatigue slumping his shoulders and slowly easing his eyelids shut and pass out. Then they would be on him like a rash. And he doubted they’d let him have a quick and easy death.  
Probably be easier to be killed by a lucky bullet. Less pain involved.

But either way, he would be dead within the next few hours. No doubt about that.  
He ducked behind the wall, reloading his gun and hurriedly drinking from a bottle. His arms protested as he brought the gun back up over the ledge again.  
He didn’t have much time left.  
Calling his father was hard. Really hard. Especially when he heard his voice, normally always so scornful so thick with concern.  
But that’s when he saw it, in his scope. That flash of red hair. That armour, not identical, but so similar. The way the gun was held. And there, a merc dropping.  
It couldn’t be.  
It was impossible.  
A bullet probably had hit him. Because the person he saw within his crosshairs was not a person who was alive. Maybe he was in heaven. Or Hell. The latter was probably more likely given his track record. Or maybe the exhaustion was finally getting to him and he was hallucinating.  
He fired a concussion round at the human. They dodged. He hit another merc then fired another back at them. It hit, square in the shoulder. They looked up, allowing Garrus to see their face for the first time.  
It was Shepard. A more scarred and harassed looking Shepard than that he had known. But unmistakably, undeniably Shepard. His heart seemed to skip a beat and he was suddenly filled with a rush of energy.

 

It was impossible, but that was Commander Shepard of course. Impossible.

 


	3. 3

Waking up on the Normandy was disconcerting to say in the least.  
His vision was swimming and spirits, he was in pain.  
He tried to recall the events that had lead him to this point. He was cornered. Trapped, he’d accepted death. He’d spoken to his father, he knew it was the end. And then… And then…  
And then he had seen Shepard. The real, living, breathing Shepard. But Shepard was dead. Wasn’t she?  
He’d conversed with her, worked with her. Her and two others. It’d had been just like old times. And then… And then...  
A rocket. A rocket to the face. The feel of the cold steel beneath him. Pain beyond pain. Reality slipping away, but before the all-consuming blackness had consumed him. He’d seen her. Shepard. Her red hair dancing in front of his eyes, he’d attempted to reach up, to touch her. If only for one last time. But then it had all gone black.  
And now he was here, artificial lights blinding him.   
He stood up, swaying slightly before managing to fight the darkness eating away at the edge of his vision.  
He was on the Normandy. He would have thought this was the afterlife, had his mandible not hurt so much.  
He was alive and on the Normandy. And that must mean Shepard was alive too.


	4. Chapter 4

A human lay before him, as pale as the sheets that covered the majority of its body. An unrecognisable figure. More tubes and wiring than flesh. A forlorn sight. Had he not known the figure in front of him had been Commander Shepard, he never would have guessed. She was scarred beyond recognition, cheeks that had once been so smooth now waxy and blistered, shining brightly under the halogen lights of the makeshift hospital.

Comatose the doctors had said. She’d been that way since they’d found her, body battered and bruised under a heap of rubble. But breathing, alive.

The monitor beeped rhythmically, the smell of disinfectant was strong in his nose. He watched the screen. Fifty-six, fifty-seven, then fifty-six again. A pulse-rate, slow, but there. Present. Alive.

He pulled up the small brown plastic chair that rested in the corner of the room, placed it next to the bed and sat. The smell of disinfectant was strong in the air, but it still didn’t mask the smell of blood, the smell of smoke that seemed the cover everything these days.

Six months.

Six months since he’d last seen her. The final moments still vivid in his mind. He’d relived them every night after all.

* * *

 

_“You’ve gotta get outta here!”_

_“And you’ve got to be kidding me.”_

_“Don’t argue, Garrus.” By the spirits he wants to argue, wants to go with her._

_“We’re in this till the end.”_

_“No matter what happens here. You know I Iove you. I always will.” He looks into her eyes and in that moment he understands. He'd only understands. To ask to stay with her would be selfish, and by the spirits he wants to be selfish, he wants to stay with her. But they didn't come this far for it to end now. If anyone could understand, he understood. The need to end this, once and for all transcended his desire to stay with Shepard._

_“Shepard, I… Love you too.” His arm extends to her as she pulls ever further away._

_“Go!” He reaches out, even though he knows it’s no use, as she runs toward the beam. And then he turns, leaving her._

* * *

 

“Fuck!” He yells, pulling his hand away from his face. Shaking his head, snapping back to reality. He’d been haunted by the decision not to follow ever since. The same scene, over and over in his brain. Every possibility, every outcome.

But he’d refused to accept she had died. Even when it seemed the certain outcome. Weeks spent stranded, playing it over and over in his mind. Even when they’d finally had coms running and the news had come. He’d refused to accept it. Refused to place the plaque along the list of the dead. And when the day finally came, the news he’d been hoping, praying for, that Shepard was alive and had been recovered, well.  He was more relieved than he cared to admit.

In his mind he had pictured her, waiting for him, injured perhaps, but still Shepard. He had never imagined it quite this bad, never imagined her quite this broken.

He took her hand. Pale long fingers limp within his. But still warm. Still alive.

The doctor had said he wasn’t sure if she’d wake up. If she ever would wake up. But he had faith. This was commander Shepard after all, she defied the impossible. If anyone could wake up it was her, if anyone could defy the impossible it was her. Hell, she’d stopped the reapers.

He pressed his forehead against hers. Closed eyes against closed eyes. Charred human flesh against rough Turian plate. Human hands, once soft but now so worn against plated claws.

“Shepard…” His voice trailed off. “I… I don’t know if you can hear me…” He checked the monitor. No change in blood pressure or heart rate. What could he say. She was alive, the galaxy was safe. He was alive. What more could he ask of her?

“I… Take your time Shepard. I’ll wait for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I'm sorry for delay. I hope this is ok! Please don't hurt me......... I've been so busy........ Again pls crit my english im pretty bad


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